


Peace, Love, and Motorcycles

by JuxtaposeFantasy



Series: WangSong [3]
Category: Chinese Actor RPF
Genre: Baby angst, Fluff, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:00:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26930041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuxtaposeFantasy/pseuds/JuxtaposeFantasy
Summary: “You practiced for two days this year.” Weilong shook his head in apparent wonder. “You were going to beat them all aftertwo daysof practice. You not only bruised their egos, you stomped them into the ground.”When Song Weilong seeks Yibo out at the track, he doesn't find a man in mourning, he finds a racer looking ahead.
Relationships: Song Weilong/Wang Yi Bo
Series: WangSong [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1732489
Comments: 24
Kudos: 57





	Peace, Love, and Motorcycles

**Author's Note:**

> It took me a day or so to figure out how I wanted to tackle the issue of Yibo's race. I decided an uplifting tone was best, because in the end, Yibo came out of this incident as the moral winner. 😊 Song Weilong seemed like the perfect partner to make this clear, and I really like writing him with Yibo.

“Oh, ho, the boyfriend’s here,” Yin Zheng crowed. “Took you long enough.”

Song Weilong’s first reaction was to look around the pit wall to see who had overheard the comments. But he stopped himself as soon as he started. Yin Zheng was a raucous and playful man, but he wasn’t so reckless that he’d say such a thing if he believed other people could hear it. He wouldn’t endanger Yibo’s reputation. His own, maybe, if he felt it was worth it, but not Yibo’s.

A tendril of the old jealousy tickled Song Weilong’s heart, though he quickly tugged it away. Yin Zheng had a connection to Yibo that he never would. Song Weilong enjoyed watching the Rossi races that Yibo showed him and he loved listening to Yibo excitedly explaining strategy and technique, even if he didn’t understand it all. But the plain truth was that Weilong would never take up racing. He didn’t possess the desire to chase speed that Yibo did. So he couldn’t empathize with the special bond that Yibo and Yin Zheng shared. The magic of the track would forever elude him. But he had come to accept that, just as he had come to accept Yin Zheng’s place in Yibo’s life. Yibo needed friends who were good to him.

“I arrived in Beijing two hours ago,” Weilong told the older man. “Went to his apartment but he wasn’t there.”

Yin Zheng still wore mirrored sunglasses though the sun was dipping toward the horizon and the sky was painted in streaks of orange and yellow. Song Weilong couldn’t see his eyes behind that colorful palette as he said, “He didn’t tell you he’d be here?”

Weilong wasn’t bothered by the subtle inference that he was out of the loop. “He doesn’t tell me everything, no. He doesn’t owe me a minute-by-minute accounting of his life.”

“I guess you could get that from the internet.”

Sadness weighted Yin Zheng’s words. Regret for the celebration that could have been. _No, he’s not that selfish. It’s what happened to Yibo that bothers him._ Weilong could see it even if Yin Zheng tried to hide it behind his glasses.

“Congratulations, by the way.” Weilong extended his hand.

Yin Zheng glanced at it before hooking his fingers in the chain link fence and looking out at the track. “I don’t want it.”

Weilong didn’t lower his hand. “Regardless of what happened to him, you won, Zheng-ge. Your efforts deserve to be recognized. You won’t be diminishing the injustice of what happened to him by accepting what’s yours. He wouldn’t want that.”

“It’s hard to be happy,” Yin Zheng murmured. “Later, maybe, I’ll be able to celebrate. Buy me a drink then. But not now.”

Weilong lowered his hand.

“But I appreciate it.” Yin Zheng glanced sideways at him. “Thanks.”

A rumble approached, a nebulous noise without a source. Weilong followed Yin Zheng’s lead and leaned into the gap between the safety fences to peer down the track. There was nothing to see at first, only gray pavement and the shimmer of a mirage on the horizon. Weilong’s eyes followed the streaks of black rubber on the pavement, thinking about the crashes that hadn’t ended as safely for their riders as Yibo’s had. 

“You ever watch a race live?”

Weilong shook his head, his eyes lifting to the shimmering line of the horizon. “My first time on a track.”

“You’re in for a treat, then.” Yin Zheng’s voice held the smugness of a man hoarding a treasure.

The air itself began to vibrate as the rumble abruptly became a roar as a single rider rounded the turn. The vibration leaped into Weilong’s chest, shaking his lungs and heart as the rider, dotted in vibrant green like a beetle, rushed up on them. The bike and rider rocketed past, a veritable bullet of sound and speed. It’s impact on Weilong was as powerful as being shot. It snatched his breath from his lungs and stretched his eyes as wide as they would go. Time seemed to congeal into molasses as the bullet bike sped on.

“So fast!” he cried out in amazement as Yibo and his angry roar streaked down the stretch and slingshotted into another curve.

“Awesome, right?” Yin Zheng was transcendent in his glee, all his prior angst blasted away by rider 85’s passage.

“Incredible. It’s unreal.” Weilong massaged his chest as though he could soothe his rattled organs, but it felt as though even his cells had quaked. “When you watch it on a feed, it looks so much slower. But, that’s—that’s _powerful_.”

“Yibo’s fearless,” Yin Zheng said proudly as he leaned one shoulder against the fence and crossed his arms. “He chased speed from the second he sat on a bike.”

Weilong shared his grin, but reality was beginning to dig its claws into him. “Was he going that fast when he crashed?”

Yin Zheng idly kicked the pavement. “Not as fast. He’d slowed to go into the turn.”

“But fast.” Weilong’s throat was dry. “Enough to send him sliding and spinning as far as he went. I saw him flip…”

“He’s got a few scrapes.” Yin Zheng took off his glasses and hooked them in the V of his shirt collar. His small eyes were hugged by stress lines, but they were steady and sympathetic. “He’s a little banged up. He’s limping. But none of it’s serious. I just thought you should know, so you don’t freak out when you see him. It’ll all heal fine. I’m not just saying that.”

“Thanks. Not just for that, but—” Weilong wanted to say more, but found it unexpectedly difficult. 

Yin Zheng smirked at his struggle. “Yeah, yeah, I get it.” He slapped a hand on Weilong’s arm. “Come on, boyfriend. Let’s go meet him at the pit.”

~~~~~

Riding was perfect in its simplicity. It was two things: speed and control. There were dozens of conditions to take note of, strategies to keep in mind, and calculations to make—but Yibo’s mind handled all the information with the unconscious effort of breathing. His shufi had claimed Yibo was a prodigy. Yibo couldn’t claim that was true, but he could say with perfect honesty that racing came easily to him. Speed and control. Get somewhere quickly, but do it the correct way. He had long ago learned how to do that in life. Translating it to the track had been second nature.

It was why the ending of his race was particularly frustrating for him. He’d been mastering the speed and control better than he ever had before. His heart had been pounding with excitement and pride as he overtook the riders and gained the second place position. He’d gotten to where he’d needed to be and he’d done it cleanly and skillfully.

Having victory stolen from him because a rider had done the exact opposite without apology not only angered him, it bewildered him. Victory without honor was no victory at all. Triumph at the expense of others was a tainted one. Who wanted that? He didn’t understand ‘win at all costs’. Maybe he never would. He would be alright with that, but it meant he’d face experiences like this one with the same frustration.

Coming to the track tonight had been an attempt to exorcise it. Already, he was growing to accept that the actions of the other rider hadn’t ruined the race for him. Yibo had competed with honor and he’d performed at his best. It was what every athlete strove for, so he was content.

The last niggling pain of ‘what if’ dissolved into the exhaust fumes he left on the track. As he pulled into the pit lane, he could finally unclench the muscles that had been coiled since his crash two days ago. What was done was done. He had achieved his personal best. He would look forward to the next race with anticipation in his heart for what he could achieve.

As he pulled up to the Yamaha pit, he noted that Yin Zheng wasn’t alone. His companion wasn’t the pit manager or a mechanic. Song Weilong’s tall, lanky figure was instantly recognizable and the sight of him was so uplifting that Yibo steered a quick zig zag to emulate a dog wagging its tail in happiness. By Weilong’s wide grin, he understood the action.

Yibo pulled up and turned off the engine. A member of the crew ran up as Yibo dismounted and took over, walking the bike into the pit for him. Behind his visor, Yibo grinned as Song Weilong gave him a blatant once-over. His appreciation of Yibo in his riding suit was as bright as the neon that colored it. Yibo had been drawn to the sport partly out of a desire to look handsome and cool, but it wasn’t until he had this man openly admiring him that he felt sexy, too.

Weilong was patient as Yibo pulled off his gloves and unlatched the strap on his helmet before freeing himself.

“Hey,” Yibo said, grinning like a fool. “What are you doing here?”

Weilong’s gaze tracked the sweat that slid down Yibo’s face and beaded on his neck.

“Obviously he came to ogle you,” Yin Zheng teased as he joined them. 

Yibo and Weilong shared a look before Weilong shrugged. “I swung by your place. Figured you’d be here. Nice ride?”

“The best,” Yibo gushed, because it felt that way, like he’d cleared not only his mind but his soul and was ready to begin fresh. “If I’d known you were in the city I would have told you I was coming here.”

“It’s no big deal. I’m here.”

Yibo knew he looked lovesick as he breathed, “Yeah. You’re here.”

“Oh, jeez, I’m getting cavities,” Yin Zheng moaned.

Yibo smiled a bit self-consciously at him, but he didn’t fear judgment from Yin Zheng. Their connection was solid, proven by Yin Zheng’s fierce protectiveness in the hours after the crash. Yibo could have lost himself to anger, but his friend had steered him back on track and taken it upon himself to be the megaphone to air the injustice. His teasing now felt like what it was: the taunting of a loving brother.

“Otouto, this was his first time seeing you in action,” Yin Zheng went on with a playful wagging of his eyebrows to suggest a double entendre. “You blew him away.”

“I had no idea how fast you go,” Weilong admitted, sounding sheepish. “I mean, I’d heard the speed, I knew the numbers, but it’s different to feel it.”

Yibo swiped sweat away from the corner of his eye. “It feels like nothing else. Like I’m not in the world, I’m going faster than it.”

“You looked like a comet.” Weilong smiled. “You were stunning.”

Yin Zheng cackled and spun away while Yibo glared at his back. Fingers on the back of his hand caught his attention.

“Hang out with me tonight.” Weilong stepped in close. His hair was short and shaggy, his agency’s attempt to make him fit tough guy roles for whatever reason, but his scent was the one Yibo had always known, the lushness of his wide lips still tempting him.

“You think I’m going to say no?” Yibo asked, feeling slightly bashful with Yin Zheng present, though the other racer had moved back to give them more privacy. “You can buy me dinner. I’m always starving after I ride laps.”

“Good. I want you to have a hearty appetite.”

Yibo pinched his lips shut to hold back his laughter.

With a knowing look, Weilong reached up and traced the trail of sweat riding the contour of Yibo’s throat. Yibo couldn’t help swallowing, making his Adam’s apple bob beneath Weilong’s fingertip.

“Hey, kids, I’m gonna take a couple of laps.” Yin Zheng gave them a two-fingered salute. “Assuming you can keep it in your pants long enough, stick around and cheer me on?”

Watch his friend race with his boyfriend by his side? Yibo’s grin felt like it would split his cheeks. “Beat your best time, aniki. You can do it.”

~~~~~

The track lights activated once the sun dipped behind the fan stands, though the twilight was bright enough to see by. There were workers somewhere managing the place, Yibo assumed. But he hadn’t seen them. Even the Yamaha crew seemed to be gone, perhaps chilling in the inner sanctum where there were comforts, understanding a need for privacy and peace.

The madness of the past couple of days began to fade along with the sunlight as Yibo and Weilong watched Yin Zheng zip past them every two minutes, a greyhound in pursuit of the rabbit of faster time. Yibo’s world, which had forcibly expanded beyond the racetrack to include his fans, the racing circles, and passersby—becoming a cacophony of unwanted opinions and judgment—gradually shrank back to its intimate, comforting shape. So much hot emotion, so much pain—it all receded, pushed back by a set of dark eyes which promised him safety and relief.

 _I could stare at you all day,_ Yibo thought at him, _and I would never reach the depths of you._ In Weilong’s deep waters was where Yibo yearned to swim, protected from the violence of the shore and cradled by gentle swells.

They hadn’t talked about the race, though like the moon, it hovered above them. Yibo had been prepared with answers and explanations. Apparently Song Weilong didn’t require any. He was an intelligent man. He’d no doubt read the reports and speculations, watched the videos from several angles. The basics of the incident were clear, but Yibo wondered at him not needing to know how Yibo felt about it all.

“You’ll still race,” Weilong said eventually. It wasn’t a question, and it wasn’t a question in Yibo’s mind, either.

Yibo studied his own scraped fingers, curled around the chain links. He imagined them curled around the grips of his bike. “Yes. Do you think I should stop?”

“I think you should do what you enjoy. No matter what.”

Yibo finally pulled down the moon. “Were you worried?” 

“What do you think?” Weilong countered quietly.

“It’s a safe sport.”

“That’s what you’ve told me. That’s what I’ve read.”

Yibo looked askance at him. “You’ve read about it?”

Weilong lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “I want to understand what’s important to you.”

The answer cocooned Yibo in softness.

“Racing is,” he said, “but so are you. I don’t want you to worry or be upset by what I do.”

Weilong nodded. Twilight was kind to him, though any light was. He was too handsome, probably, for even shadow to find fault.

“I trust you know what’s best,” he told Yibo. “Even when you were a kid, you were level-headed about the important things.”

Yibo smiled. “It’s still funny to me that you paid so much attention to me while we were Little Brothers and I didn’t notice a thing.”

“I didn’t stand out,” Weilong reminded him, smiling when Yibo snorted. “If you watch our group dances, I was the unsmiling kid in the back row. The camera always found you. As it should have.”

Though they’d been together for months now, Yibo continue to marvel over Weilong’s long-term crush on him. He used to feel guilty about it, but Weilong had assured him it was for the best. The timing hadn’t been right. They’d both needed to grow into men and develop their separate careers. Now they were both rising stars and could support each other in ways they couldn’t have as kids. Now this thing between them stood a chance.

“I was angry,” Yibo blurted. A leak had sprung within him, but he didn’t try to plug it. “Angrier than I could remember being. It was scary how much I felt when I saw him ride away and I was left behind with my broken bike. I didn’t know myself.”

Weilong reached for Yibo’s hand on the fence and tugged it off to hold it. He tightened his grip, squeezing Yibo’s fingers until the bones seemed to grind together. It didn’t hurt. It was the grip you wanted to feel when you were falling over a cliff.

“You don’t want to know what I yelled when I saw it happen,” Weilong murmured as he studied the scabs forming over Yibo's knuckles. “It was a good thing I was alone at the time.”

“Caring so much about something hurts.” Yibo felt childish for saying it, but Weilong would never mock him for being honest. “At that moment I wished I’d never taken up racing. I hated it. But as I walked back, the feeling faded and I could remind myself that it wasn’t the sport, it was him.” He sighed. “I don’t think I’d shake his hand if he offered it to me now. That’s not charitable of me, is it?”

“It’s human. You have a right to be human, Yibo, despite your inhuman talents and abilities.”

Yibo rolled his eyes. “I’m serious.”

“I am, too. We’re held to a higher standard, sure, but the public doesn’t have a right to our humanity.”

“How are you younger than me?” Yibo asked with feigned suspicion.

“Only on my birth certificate,” Weilong said with a flash of mischief in his eyes.

A roar crawled up on them. Yibo held his breath, exhilarated as Yin Zheng whipped past them, turning Yibo’s head like a slap to the face.

“So cool,” Weilong murmured.

 _Thank you for getting it,_ Yibo thought at him. _Thank you for appreciating this slice of my life._

“How do you feel now?” Weilong asked once the roar had settled into a purr and then into a memory of ferocity.

“I’m disappointed,” Yibo admitted with the reluctance he’d feel for giving up on a too complicated LEGO build. “I didn’t realize people could compete that way. The lack of sportsmanship—why be so cheap?”

“Some people only care about the glory, not the beauty of the sport itself.”

“I guess that’s true. I don’t understand it, though. Those guys get to race any time they like. They’re so lucky. But they don’t act that way.”

“Yibo—” Weilong seemed to be holding back amusement. “I think it’s _because_ they race and practice all the time that drove them to lose their honor.”

“What do you mean?”

“You practiced for two days this year.” Weilong shook his head in apparent wonder. “You were going to beat them all after _two days_ of practice. You not only bruised their egos, you stomped them into the ground.”

Yibo tried to pull his hand back but Weilong wouldn’t release it. “So I’m not supposed to do my best?”

“I’m not criticizing you. I’m explaining why you’re an alien.”

Yibo stared at him, then burst out laughing. “What?”

Weilong smiled, though he had that concentrated look on his face that told Yibo he was pleased more by Yibo’s laughter than by the joke he had made.

“Maybe not _quite_ an alien,” Weilong amended, “but when you decide to learn something, you immerse yourself in its world. You fall in love with the culture and people surrounding it. You try to become a member of its family.” Weilong brushed his thumb across the back of Yibo’s hand, over the bruises and scrapes. “To enter a family that’s already formed means making yourself vulnerable to rejection by it. Yet you still do it because you want so badly to belong. That’s not something everyone can do.”

The description gave Yibo something to think about. It had never occurred to him to _not_ go all-out when it came to learning a new hobby. Why take up something if he didn’t intend to do his best at it? Why learn only one facet of it and not cover every angle that existed? He loved to gush over the things he was interested in with like-minded people. It was part of the reason he was so close to Yin Zheng. The two of them could lose hours talking about racing.

But Weilong’s guess about him wanting to belong tugged at a sore nerve. It mattered to him that he was respected, that people saw him as a person who took sports seriously. It was here that his status as a celebrity worked against him, because it forced him to work twice as hard to convince people he wasn’t just participating as a stunt.

“I’ve figured out something else about you.”

Yibo smiled, bemused by Weilong’s apparent dissecting of him. “What did you figure out?”

“When you take up these hobbies, there’s no destination in mind for you. The road never ends and you don’t want it to.”

“So you think I don’t have goals?”

“I think you’re on a constant journey of learning. You master one trick and move on to the next. The same with racing. There are a handful of racers—not everyone in the circle, but a jealous few—who have settled on a destination. They’ve reached it. They can’t stand the fact that you’re going to drive right past them because it doesn’t occur to you to stop.” Weilong’s eyes held the increasing glow of stars. “That’s sexy, Yibo. That’s sexy as hell.”

“Yeah?” Yibo definitely felt sexy with the way Weilong was watching him. It was an odd combination against his senses: gasoline fumes and pavement, the occasional whiff of Weilong’s cologne, starlight and the harsh halogen track lights, the warmth of Weilong’s body along his side versus the occasional curl of cool breeze.

“Do you think I’m handsome when I race?” Yibo asked him.

Weilong turned in profile as he gazed across the track to the skeletal stands, empty now, but holding echoes of their riotous fans. “I think you’re too much for me sometimes, and I can’t handle it.” 

Yibo’s heart stuttered. “That—that doesn’t sound good.”

Weilong quickly turned to him, eyes widened. “Maybe I said that wrong. It’s not merely a matter of you being handsome, Yibo. The world loves you. You proved yourself. Not in the way you expected to, but if you ask me, this victory is better. You’ve proved not only that you’re a talented racer, but that you’re a good, honorable man. How can I not find that attractive? How can I not love you for it?” His cheeks matched the rose-hued horizon. “I do, in case that hasn’t been blatantly obvious for months now.”

“It has been,” Yibo murmured, taken aback by Weilong’s passion because it only seemed to arise when the topic was him. He squeezed back. “I hope I’ve been as obvious.”

A tiny curl touched the corner of Weilong’s mouth. “In your way, you have.”

Yibo hoped “his way” was good enough for Weilong, because he needed it to be. Weilong was the most important person in his life.

As though fighting to remind Yibo that his life held room for more, Yin Zheng rounded the curve in another lap. Yibo turned his head to watch his approach and was caught by surprise when Weilong came up behind him and hooked his hands in the fence on either side of him, caging him.

 _What if someone sees?_ Yibo nearly asked, but bit his tongue. Anyone here was an ally, but he honestly didn’t believe anyone was watching. His team had been protective of him from the start, but now they were doubly so. He would need to seek them out if he needed them, because he doubted they were encroaching on his track time tonight.

Assured, he leaned back into Weilong. Yibo had peeled his suit down to his waist because of the constriction of the arms, so the warmth of Weilong’s chest seeped nakedly into his back and shoulders. His lower half may as well have been encased in a chastity belt for all the sensation he received through the thick leathers, but Yibo didn’t need to be aroused to enjoy what Weilong was giving him. When he tracked the lighting zip of Yin Zheng’s progress, Yibo’s cheek turned and pressed against Weilong’s. It was natural to turn just that slight bit more until their lips touched and they were kissing.

It was hardly a romantic setting with exhaust fumes billowing around them, but perhaps Yibo was a little bit twisted. His mind blended the act of kissing Weilong with the track setting, concocting a delicious wine. He sipped it from Weilong’s lips. He swallowed it when Weilong fed it to him with his tongue. It wasn’t until his bare shoulders touched the cooling metal fence that he discovered he’d been turned. He slung his arms around Weilong’s hips and tugged him closer.

There was no such thing as a healing kiss, but Yibo didn’t mind if it was all in his mind. Most of the best things were, anyway: satisfaction, acceptance, love. He would race again next year. He already knew that he would turn in even faster times. It was as inevitable as the sun setting, as inevitable as Weilong’s gaze filling with adoration each time they came together. Yibo was so lucky, so very lucky to have what he had. He was glad he hadn’t spared a tear for anything else that had happened.

After Yin Zheng finished his laps and all the big boy toys were safely put away, Yibo and Weilong took him out for drinks and dinner to finally celebrated his first win.

“To the pursuit of shiny metal objects shaped like ugly cups,” the older man toasted.

Yibo, buzzed and loving life, touched his glass to his friend’s. Beneath the table, he held Weilong’s hand. 

“To the pursuit of peace and love,” he said, meeting Weilong’s gaze, “wherever we may find it.”


End file.
